


In the notes

by Builder



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Fever, Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Morning Sickness, Poisoning, Sickfic, Unrelated chapters, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: A repository for my Criminal Minds drabbles.  Most are sickfics.  All are very short.





	1. Spencer's poisoned on a case

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly play 200-word fics on Tumblr. Here are the fruits of my efforts. Find me on tumblr @builder051.

“What was that?  What happened?”  JJ grips Spencer’s arm as he stumbles.  

“I…I don’t know.”  He rubs the side of his neck, still feeling the pinch.  His vision blurs, then doubles, and he leans heavily on JJ’s shoulder.  “There was just as sting, and then…I don’t know.”

“Like a bee or something?  Are you allergic?”

“No, I…”  Vertigo turns Spencer’s surroundings into a multicolored fuzz.  Nausea makes his throat go tight, and he swallows convulsively.  “I…  JJ, I don’t feel—”  He cuts himself off with a retch.

“Alright, let’s get to cover,” JJ murmurs, pulling Spencer toward the police car parked on the street a few yards away.  Spencer does his best to move his feet, but his body is uncooperative.  He vomits down the front of his bulletproof vest.

“It’s ok.”  They get behind the vehicle, and JJ Supports spencer to sit down. He leans his head back against the car’s door.  She pushes his hair back to peer at the tiny puncture wound on his neck.  “Oh my god, Spence, it’s like a needle prick or something.  Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Dizzy,” Spencer chokes.  “Nauseous…”  He gags again, bringing up spit and bile into his lap.

“I’m gonna get you help, ok?”  She reaches for his hand and squeezes it.  “You’re gonna be ok.”


	2. Spencer has pneumonia

Spencer hefts his messenger bag on his shoulder as he steps out of the elevator and into the bullpen.  He looks at the ground to keep curious eyes away from him.

“Reid,” Morgan says as soon as Spencer reaches his desk.  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m ok,” Spencer insists, setting his bag down and pulling out his chair.  “I’ve been gone long enough. I actually really miss work…”  He stifles a cough with his sleeve.

“Pneumonia’s serous, dude,” Morgan reminds him.  “You’re pretty wiped, even if you feel better.”

“I can still work,” Spencer says.  “It’s just a cough now.”  He clenches his throat muscles to keep from hacking.

“Hotch is gonna send you home if he sees you.  You know that, right?” Morgan raises his eyebrows.

Spencer shrugs.  He can’t hold the coughs back anymore, and he turns away from Morgan.  He presses his fist to his mouth in an attempt to at least make them quieter.  

It doesn’t work out so well.  “Kid?  You ok?”  Spencer hears him stand up, and a second later he’s patting Spencer on the back.  

“…fine…” he gasps through the convulsive hacks.  

Morgan sighs.  “Just…breathe, ok?”  

Spencer tries.  But he ends up gagging instead.  It takes minutes for him to finally regain composure.

“Maybe you’ll believe me this time when I say it’s too early for you to be back,” Morgan says.

Spencer can’t find his voice to rebut.  So he just sighs.


	3. Spencer coughing up blood

Spencer’s on his knees, both arms wrapped around his stomach.  Emily squats at his side, squeezing his shoulder with one hand and patting his back with the other.

“I’m ok,” he tries to say, but there’s no air to push the words out.  It’s as if the unsub’s kick to his gut permanently deflated his lungs.  Spencer can hear the scuffle continuing behind him.  Emily should go join it instead of sitting her babysitting him.

“Try to take a breath in and hold it,” Emily instructs.  

Spencer nods, but it only serves to make him dizzy.  He sniffs in the cold winter air, but immediately coughs it back out.  

“Ok, try again.”

He does, then hacks again.  It quickly turns to a coughing fit, wracking his shoulders forward around spastic contractions in his diaphragm.  But at least he’s gasping now, instead of sitting quiet and blank while his cells die without oxygen.  

“It’s alright,” Emily says.

But it’s not.  Vertigo starts to play around his temples, and Spencer wonders if he’s going to throw up.  He brings one hand up over his mouth as a precaution, but all he does is cough into his palm.  

Finally he gets in enough air to speak.  “Sorry.  I’m ok,” Spencer croaks.  He drops his hand to his lap.  When he looks down at it, red tinges his fingers.  His mouth tastes like copper.

“No, you need medical attention.”  Emily pulls out her phone.  “But I’m going to make sure you will be.”


	4. Careworn Spencer

JJ pauses to hold the door open for Spencer.  The younger agent lags behind the group, fumbling with the something in his messenger bag.  

“You alright?”  JJ asks.  Spencer looks exhausted and careworn; dark circles under his eyes betray his lack of sleep.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, though his tone lacks conviction.  He hefts his bag on his shoulder and folds his arms behind his back, but not before JJ sees the bottle of Excedrin in his hands.  

“You don’t have to be alright all the time, you know,” JJ says, offering a sympathetic smile.  

Spencer shrugs.  “Yeah,” he says again.  He passes her and hurries to fall into step with Hotch and Derek.


	5. Overheated Spencer

Spencer swallows hard and takes a step back from where the victim’s body is laid out across the pavement, already beginning to decompose in the summer heat.  Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and he’s not sure if it’s the grisly sight or the oppressive weather that’s making him feel sick.  

Derek appears at his shoulder, offering a bottle of water.  He takes in the expression on Spencer’s face and says, “Me too, kid.”  He shakes his head a little.  “Me too.”


	6. Spencer post-siezure

When Spencer opens his eyes, he’s curled on his side.  Nothing’s in focus, but he can feel a hand on his shoulder.  

“Hey, Spence,” JJ’s voice whispers.  Her long blonde hair dips into Spencer’s visual field before her face does.  “There you go.  Open your eyes.”

He wants to ask what’s happening, but his head hurts and his ears are pounding and somehow that’s making it difficult to speak.  Spencer thinks about sitting up, but he doesn’t even get the chance to start moving before his stomach presses into his throat and he throws up all over the carpet in front of his nose.

“It’s ok.  Just get it up.”  JJ sounds like such a mother.  It makes Spencer miss his mother, and he might have cried if the belated nausea hadn’t decided to catch up and make him heave all over again.  

“What…happened?” Spencer croaks.  His tongue is so heavy he can barely wrap it around the words.

“You, um.  You had a seizure.”  JJ stops to wipe at her eyes.  “Garcia called an ambulance.  “They’ll be here in a minute.”

The words barely sink in.  Spencer’s temples ache so badly the pain stretches down his face and neck and into his shoulders.  Somehow, they make sense, though, and fear joins the mix of emotions playing around his mind.

“You’ll…stay?”  

JJ nods and gives the ghost of a smile.  “Of course.”


	7. Spencer sick at a housewarming party

Emily tops off Spencer’s wine glass before he has a chance to say no, thank you.  

“Oh, that’s good,” intervenes quickly as rosé splashes into his goblet.  “That’s enough.”  

It’s only a quarter full, and Emily raises her eyebrows.  “Don’t tell me you’re wimping out on us?” she asks playfully.

“No, I’m good,” Spencer says absently.  “I’m fine.”  What a dumb thing to say.  Just the kind of thing to make people ask more questions…  Spencer shakes his head.  He’s had this headache for the better part of 36 hours now.  Excedrin hasn’t helped.  He barely slept last night, he’s hardly eaten a thing today…

But he’s fine.  He’s having fun at Emily’s housewarming party.  Spencer takes a tiny sip of the pink wine, wincing a little at the sweetness and burn of the alcohol.  His first glass wasn’t even a full one, so he shouldn’t be feeling so warm and light.  

JJ and Garcia burst out laughing further down the table, and slowly everyone else joins in.  Spencer’s missed the joke, but he tries to smile anyway.  The sound of the merriment makes his head throb, and he sips again to keep his hands busy.

His body has decided it’s had enough, though, and the wine doesn’t go down.  Spencer chokes, and he brings his hand over his mouth before he realizes it’s not just the single sip of rosé that’s coming back up.  

Vomit drips between his fingers and onto the edge of the table.  Emily hops up to offer a napkin, and Spencer feels himself blush as he chokes out, “I’m so sorry.”


	8. Spencer dreading the flight

Spencer rests his cheek against the car window, savoring its coolness even though it makes him shiver.  A bone-deep ache stretches from his head through his shoulders and back.  He feels heavy as concrete and loath to leave the seat.

He’s only comfortable because they’re parked on the edge of the tarmac, waiting for the jet to taxi into position.  Travelling by any vehicle is low on the list of things Spencer wants to do today.  Being home to sleep in his own bed tonight is an enticing idea, but the prospect of enduring a flight to get there is not.

He looks down at his messenger bag tucked between his feet and the bottle of water clamped between his knees.  Spencer’s checked all the boxes of self-care.  He’s taken ibuprofen; he’s working on hydration.  He feels just as bad as he did, this morning, though.  Still feverish and sore.

Spencer’s heart nearly stops when the car door opens out from under him.  His seatbelt saves him from tipping sideways, but the momentary loss of support brings on unpleasant vertigo.

“Whoa, kid,”  Derek quickly steadies Spencer’s shoulder.  “Hey.  You alright?”

Spencer blinks.  “Mm-hm,” he hums without conviction.  He looks through Derek at the set of stairs being wheeled up to the jet’s open door.

“You know I don’t believe you, right?”  Derek offers a sympathetic smile.

“Mm.”  Spencer gingerly bends over to grab his bag.  “Yeah.”


	9. Spencer dreading the team dinner

It’s one of the rare nights when the jet touches down back at Quantico at a reasonable hour.  It’s 7:30 pm when the team files into the bullpen.  If they hurry through their paperwork, they might be able to make it to a late dinner before the good restaurants close and the bad ones get too crowded.  

“I’m reserving a table a Piatanzi,” Penelope says, naming the gourmet pizza joint a few blocks away.  “Hurry up!  I’m in the mood for breadsticks!”

There’s a general murmur of assent from the other agents, but Spencer has trouble drudging up enthusiasm.  He should be hungry, but the feeling hanging around his stomach is closer to illness.  He’s chilled, too, even though everyone else looks comfortable in shirt sleeves.  

“Hey, come on, Spence.  You almost done?”  JJ asks, setting her purse on the edge of his desk and rummaging in it for chapstick.  

“Mm.  I still have some forms…”  It’s part excuse and part truth.  He is moving more slowly than usual, but it’s not on purpose.  

JJ pauses and looks into Spencr’s face.  “You ok?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Don’t lie.  I can tell.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to profile each other,” Spencer says.

“Ok, ok.”  JJ takes a step back.  “I just…know you’re normally more excited about pizza.”  She smiles, but worry hangs in her eyes.

“Sorry,” Spencer sighs.  “Not tonight.  I…feel kind of queasy right now?”  He doesn’t mean it to come out as a question.  But he doesn’t want to speak it into fact either.  His stomach hurts enough as it is.

“Oh, Spence,” JJ’s brows knit together.  “Sorry.  You probably don’t want to think about food, then.”

He sheepishly shakes his head.  

“How about I give you a ride home instead?  We can stop off at the drug store.”

“If, uh,” Spencer says, “If it’s not any trouble…”

“No trouble at all.”


	10. Spencer's sick and dizzy

It seems like they’ve been in front of the white board for hours.  Spencer’s feet hurt from standing so long, and his back and his head are beginning to ache.  An unfinished cup of coffee sits on the edge of the desk, but he’s loath to finish it.  

“I think the location must be important to him,” Morgan says, pointing from a series of crime scene photos taped in one corner to a mess of question marks representing the unsub.  “It’s such an out-of-the-way place, and not somewhere you’d just dump a body.”

“Hm.”  Spencer uncaps a marker and starts to draw a line between the two.  He pauses partway through as stars erupt in the edges of his vision.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute…”  Spencer swallows hard against sudden nausea.  He wonders if he should bolt to the bathroom.  But he feels like he’s going to pass out if he moves.

Morgan’s hand closes around Spencer’s wrist and wrests the marker from his grip.  “Ok.  You’re scary pale.  You’re gonna sit down for a minute.”  He grabs Spencer’s shoulder and pushes him toward the chair behind the desk.

Spencer doesn’t protest.


	11. Spencer's sick in the night at a hotel on a case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from CM Freak

 

 

Spencer changes into pajamas, brushes his teeth, and crawls into bed early.  He doesn’t tell Derek about the headache plaguing him, but they’ve roomed together enough for him not to have to.  Derek gives Spencer a once-over and deftly reaches over to turn off the lamp.  He gathers up the documents he’s reviewing and heads for the door.  “I’ll be down in the business center,” he says. “Text me if you need anything.”

 

“Thanks,” Spencer murmurs as he pulls the quilt up to his ears.  He just needs to fall asleep.  A solid eight hours of rest, then some coffee and maybe an Excedrin, and he’ll be right as rain.  Or at least he hopes he will.

 

Spencer only gets four hours before he’s pulled from his slumber.  He doesn’t know exactly what wakes him, but it’s clear that something is very wrong.  He can barely open his eyes because the ruddy glow from the alarm clock is sharp as a laser beam against his retinas.  His stomach explodes into his throat, and he can barely trip out of bed before he’s vomiting down his front and onto the floor. 

 

There’s a trash can under the desk, and Spencer trips toward it, hooking the bin with two fingers as he falls to his knees.  He bends over the rim and heaves, wincing at the sound that bounces back at him. 

 

“Alright, kid, it’s ok.”  Someone’s patting him on the back.  The touch may as well be an electric shock; it makes Spencer shudder. He tries to tell Derek  _no, thank you_ , but he can’t make his vocal cords behave.  He settles for shrugging away and panting for a moment before he retches again, sending a torrent of undigested dinner into the trash can.

 

“Ok, I got it,” Derek says, lifting his hand.  “I’ll give you some space.”

 

 _Thanks_ , Spencer thinks at him.

 

“Bad headache, huh?”

 

Spencer coughs, then spits.  It is; worse than he’s had in a while.  He has no idea why it’s come on now.  This case is no more stressful than any other. 

 

“S-sorry,” Spencer rasps when he finally has his breath back. 

 

“It’s ok, kid.  It’s not your fault.”

 

It is, though.  Even if he doesn’t mean to, it’s still his fault.  Spencer shakes his head a millimeter to each side.

 

“I’m serious,” Derek says softly.  “It’s not.”  Spencer can feel his body heat as he ghosts his hand a hair’s breadth from Spencer’s arm, giving as much comfort as he can without physical contact.  “Tell me what you need.”

 

Spencer fights another gag and coughs up a weak stream of bile so sour it leaves his eyes watering.  

 

“It’s ok.  But you gotta work with me, kid.”  Derek pushes himself back into a crouch.  “How about some water?  Would that help?”

 

Spencer hesitates, then nods.

 

“Ok.  Good,” Derek says.  “I can do water.”


	12. Spencer spends fathers' day with Derek and family

Derek smiles as he watches Savannah push Hank in a swing.  A warm summer breeze whips across the park, and his empty coke can falls over.  Derek quickly rights it.  “Good thing it was empty,” he says before crushing it and throwing it into the cooler.

“I think there a couple more in there, if you want one,” he says, looking at the can in Spencer’s hand.

Spencer shakes his head.  He rubs one hand under his eye, and turns his gaze from Hank and Savannah to his lap.

“You doing ok, kid?” Derek asks.

Spencer nods, though he’s fooling no one.

“No you’re not,” Derek says.  “I’m not gonna make you talk about it, but you can.”

Spencer sighs.  “I feel kind of sick,” he admits, setting down his almost-full coke.

“You want me to take you home?”

“No, no, I’m having a good time.  They’re having a good time.”  He nods to Derek’s son, who’s all smiles.

“You’re mind running away?” Derek asks knowingly.

Spencer slowly  nods.  “Yeah.  He was…more of a dad to me than mine was, I guess.”

“Gideon?”

Spencer nods again.  This time when he rubs his eye, he catches a tear.

Derek puts a hand on Spencer’s knee.  “I miss him too, you know?”

“Yeah.”  He stays quiet for a moment.  “Go play with Hank.  I’ll be ok for a while.”

“You sure?”  Derek asks as he gets to his feet.

“Yeah.  I will.”


	13. Spencer has a fever nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt from eatcake4breakfast. Thank you! It was a fun one.

JJ rubs her eyes as she surveys the maps spread out over the table.  It’s only nine o’clock at night.  She’s used to working later, but the team’s been in LA less than a day, and the time difference makes it feel closer to midnight. 

 

She uses her finger to trace a path between the locations of the first and second crime scenes.  Moving in a straight line gets her nowhere, but if she arcs the path upward slightly, it lines up with the interstate.

 

“Hey, Spence,” she say.  “I just noticed something.”

 

There’s no reply, so JJ looks over her shoulder.  Spencer had been reviewing crime scene photos on the couch in the corner of the office, but now his head is tipped back and he’s breathing slowly and evenly. 

 

JJ can’t help but smile.  He’s had a pinched expression all day, and she knows he’s been fighting a headache and maybe more.  Spencer’s face is pale save for a slight flush in his cheeks.  JJ wouldn’t be surprised if he’s coming down with something. 

 

She decides to let Spencer sleep and uses a highlighter to mark her discovery on the map.  JJ flips through her notes for the location of the third crime scene and places her finger on it.  It’s much further south than the first two.  So much for a pattern. 

 

“Hm.  Stop…”

 

“Huh?”  JJ looks around.

 

“Please… I said… I don’t…”  Spencer stirs.  He inclines his chin toward his shoulder as if to hide his face, though his eyes are still closed.

 

“Spence?”  JJ stands up and takes a step toward him.

 

“No…stop…”

 

“Spence, it’s ok,” JJ says.  She touches his shoulder gently, and Spencer throws his arms over his head. 

 

“Stop… I don’t want…”

 

“Spencer, wake up,” JJ says.  She can feel the heat radiating off him.  It’s little wonder he’s having a nightmare, though her heart still breaks for him.  “You’re safe.  Just open your eyes, ok?”

 

“No…” he whines.

 

“You’re safe.  I promise.” 

 

Spencer lashes out at her.  JJ jumps in surprise, but catches his wrist.  “Shh, Spence, you’re alright.  Just wake up for me.”

 

Spencer shudders.  “No…” he murmurs again, but his eyelids flutter.

 

“There you go.”  JJ wraps Spencer’s hand in both of her own and squats in front of him.  “You’re safe.”

 

“Hm.”  Spencer swallows and seems to find his bearings.  “Sorry.  I’m… I don’t know what happened.”

 

“It’s ok.  You just fell asleep.”  She looks into his glassy eyes.  “You’re not feeling good, are you?”

 

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs.  “I’ve been better.”

 

“You want to go back to the hotel and get some rest?” she asks.

 

“We’ve still got a lot of stuff to do…”  Spencer looks at the printed photos on the couch cushion beside him.

 

“It’ll still be here in the morning,” JJ says.  “Maybe we’ll have fresh eyes.”

 

Spencer uses the heel of his hand to rub his temple.  “Yeah.  Sorry, JJ.”

 

“It’s ok.  I’m hitting a snag, too.  I think we could both use a rest.”

 

Spencer slowly nods.  “Ok.”  He pauses.  Then, “Thanks for, uh, being here.”

 

JJ smiles.  “Where else would I be?”

 


	14. Spencer has a migraine and the local coroner is a dick about it

Spencer’s head has been killing him all day, and by the time he makes it to the morgue to examine the body with Derek and the local coroner, he can barely keep his eyes open.  The fluorescent lights set in the low ceiling cast a quavering glow over the stark room, but to Spencer’s sensitive head, they may as well be emanating laser beams.

He digs his knuckles into his eye sockets for a moment as the corner begins to uncover the body.  The scent of decay mixes with the ambient chemical odor, and Spencer has to swallow down nausea.

“There’s blunt force trauma to the head,” the coroner says.  “Something large, it looks like.  A baseball bat, or a golf club or something.”

“Was there any trace evidence in the wound?” Spencer asks, lowering his hands from his face and squinting at the body.

“Naw, it was clean,” the coroner says.  “Which is pretty obvious if you’d, I don’t know, open your eyes and look at it.”

“Hm.”  Spencer doesn’t have the energy to string together a better response.

“I don’t think that’s called for,” Derek says firmly.

“You FBI guys come down and think you know everything, but never want to do any work,” the coroner complains.  “He’s a kid.  I bet he doesn’t even have a degree.”

“No, I—” Spencer starts, but his stomach flips and he has to swallow down bile.

“He has more degrees than you do,” Derek corrects.  “And he has a migraine.  So we’d both be grateful if you could speed it up.”

“I’m ok,” Spencer says.  “Don’t worry about it.”  He grits his teeth to keep from gagging.

“I know,” Derek says, taking a step closer to Spencer so their elbows brush.  It’s the perfect amount of comfort without being overwhelming. “But I got your back.”


	15. JJ wakes sick and Will takes care of her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t really make it part of the dialogue because I feel like it’s super cliché and didn’t want to turn this into a fluff fest, but I imagine JJ being in the early stages of pregnancy with baby #2.

JJ’s eyes snap open.  Her heart thuds against her ribcage, and she sits up out of instinct, scanning the corners of the bedroom for threats. There’s nothing, though.  Just the silence of the sleepy house.

She sighs with relief, but the feeling is short-lived.  Nausea hits hard as JJ starts to lie back down.  She quickly changes direction and plants her feet on the floor, sprinting to the bathroom just in time to heave over the toilet.  JJ scrabbles for the wall with one hand and the water tank with the other as vertigo threatens to knock her down.

The porcelain bowl magnifies the sound of her retching.  JJ doesn’t hear Will until he’s right behind her, rubbing her back and easing her onto her knees.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “Alright.”

“Sorry,” JJ chokes.  “I didn’t mean to…wake you up.”  The urge to gag again rises in her throat.

“It’s ok,” Will soothes.  “Don’t worry about me.”

JJ vomits, then rests her cheek against the toilet seat.  She struggles to break strings of mucous stretching from her lips into the depths of the bowl.

Will brushes JJ’s hair away from her face and cups his palm against the back of her neck.  “You don’t feel warm.”

“I don’t think I have a fever.”  JJ draws in a slow breath, hoping to dispel the wave of nausea that’s flooding her mouth with bitter saliva.  “It’s really just my stomach—”  She breaks off with a retch that brings up bile and little else.

“Ok,” Will murmurs.

JJ coughs.  “Go back to sleep,” she says when she has her breath.  “I’m ok.”

Will gets to his feet, but he steps to the sink and turns on the tap.  “No, JJ, you just barely got home.”  He dampens a washcloth and wrings it out.  “This is the least I can do.”  He kneels at her side again.

JJ manages a weak smile and lets him wipe her face.  “Thanks.”

“Of course.”  Will kisses her forehead, then reaches around to flush the toilet.  “Feel a little better?”

“Yeah,” JJ says.  The nausea’s gone as quickly as it came on, though her stomach’s still uneasy and she feels the beginning of a dehydration headache.

“Henry had that bug a couple weeks ago,” Will muses.  “I thought we were clear of it.  I’m sorry you’re sick when you just got back.”

“I’m ok,” JJ says, using the toilet seat to push herself toward standing.  “I think it was just a fluke.”

“You’re still real pale.”  Will hurries to put his arm around her and help her back toward the bed.  “You sure you’re alright?”

JJ nods.  “I’ll be back to normal in the morning.  Especially if you let me sleep in.”  She grins.

“I’ll do my best,” Will says, turning down the quilt.  “But there’s a certain little man who’s missed his mama very much who’ll probably be up in…” he looks at the clock.  “About four hours.”

JJ can’t help but laugh.

“I can probably distract him with pancakes,” Will offers.  “That way you can get your rest.”

“You and your magic breakfast recipes.”  JJ pulls the covers up around her shoulders.

“I’ll save some for you.  For when you’re feeling better.”  Will settles into place as the big spoon, and JJ leans back against his chest.

“You’re the best,” she murmurs.

“Naw,” Will says.  “That’s all you.”


	16. Spencer calls JJ when he feels like using

Spencer lets out a shaky breath.  He scrolls through the list of contacts in his phone.  His thumb trembles above the screen as he searches for the confidence to choose one and make the call.  

Spencer wishes he knew it would help.  But if someone comes and he has to explain the root of his discomfort…  He swallows the urge to sob and considers flopping back down atop the rumpled blankets on his bed.  

Nervousness twists Spencer’s gut.  He wills his body to still, but there’s no stopping the quivering.  The substance his body’s craving won’t be found in a breath of fresh air.  A wave of dejection tightens Spencer’s chest, and he lets the pad of his finger fall.  

The line rings twice.  There’s still time to back out, to hang up and pretend it was a mistake.  But on the third ring, JJ picks up.  “Hello?”

Spencer opens his mouth.  He isn;t sure what he wants to say, but he doesn’t mean to start crying.  His breath comes in a gasp as tears begin to spill down his cheeks.

“Spence?” JJ asks.  “What’s going on?”

“I don’t…”  Spencer fights words.  “I’m…I’m ok.”

“Hey,” JJ says softly.  “It’s alright.  Tell me what happened.”

“I…nothing,” Spencer whispers.

“Are you safe?  Did something happened?”

“Nothing happened..”  A sob sends spit spraying from his lips.  “That’s…that’s the problem.”

“Aw, Spence.”  The frantic concern drops from JJ’s voice, and an gentler tone takes over.  “Is it a craving, or have you used…?”  She trails off.  The hopefulness in her voice makes Spencer cringe.

“Yeah, I haven’t,” he says.  “I don’t have any.”

“Ok, good.”  JJ’s footsteps sound over the line, then the jingling of keys.  “I’ll be over in 15 minutes.  Can you hold on that long?  Do you want to stay on the phone?”

“I don’t know.”  It’s the most honest thing Spencer can say.  If he had any words to describe the full body tingling and numbness that combine in a hideous cloud around him, he’d try to explain it.  But the desire to do everything and nothing all at once dies in his throat with a sick hiccup.

“Alright.  I’m gonna put you on speaker.”  Spencer hears JJ start her car.  “Just listen, ok?  You don’t have to talk.”

Spencer manages a deep breath.  “Ok.”

“Ok.  Good,” JJ says.  “I’m pulling out of the garage.”

She runs through the play-by-play of her drive all the way to Spencer’s apartment complex.  “I’m parking out front.  If you look down from your bedroom window, you can probably see me.”

Spencer doesn’t have the motivation to stand up.  “Hm.  Ok.”  Knowing she’s so close relaxes him, but it ignites a fresh flutter of anxiety as well.  JJ’s his closest friend.  She won’t judge him for having a low moment.  But at the same time, he feels it’s his responsibility to protect her from this version of himself.  

“I’m coming up the stairs,” JJ’s voice echoes.  Spencer hears her footsteps.  She’s running, hurrying to him.  

Spencer needs to get up off the floor.  He shouldn’t be sitting still when JJ’s rushing.  He should at least meet her halfway.  But something in him makes it almost too difficult to move.

“I’m right outside,” JJ says.  Spencer can hear her knocking both over the phone and through the apartment’s door.

“Ok,” Spencer breathes.  He uses the foot of his bed to heave himself up to his feet.  The ache running through his stomach makes him hunch over himself, shuffling across the living room.  He braces one hand on the door frame as he fumbles with the lock with the other.

He opens the door a crack.  JJ smiles at Spencer for a second, then pushes the door wide and throws her arms around Spencer’s shoulders.

“It’s gonna be ok,” she murmurs.

It doesn’t feel like it.  The guilt and pain in Spencer’s chest rushes upward in nausea and more tears.  But he lets JJ hold him close, and he slowly drops his forehead to her shoulder.


	17. Spencer's weak and sick after being kidnapped

Spencer can barely see as he stumbles out of the basement and into the bright sunlight.  It doesn’t matter, though.  He needs to get as far away as he can.  

Adrenaline carries him far enough for the house to be just a speck in the distance.  Then the pain hits.  Spencer knows his ribs are bruised, but when his heaving chest sparks a stab so excruciating he sees white, he knows at least one is broken.  What he needs to do is calm down.  But what he does instead is fall to his knees at the side of the road and vomit.  

There’s nothing in him to purge.  Sour bile stings as it runs down his chapped lips.  Spencer spits into the dirt and drags the back of his shaking hand across his face.  He sits back and tries to catch his breath, but it still comes too hard and fast.  As he shifts into a more comfortable position, Spencer feels a hard bump in his pocket.  Somehow, miraculously, he still has his phone.  

The vertigo reignites as he hurries to free the device.  He has to lower his head and breathe slowly, and his heart hammers as he cups his hand to shade the screen.  The battery’s low, and reception is questionable, but it works.  Relief floods through him, making his heart beat so hard it almost hurts again.  

Spencer knows he’s not out of the woods yet.  But he has hope.


	18. Spencer's sick, JJ agrees to take him home, and Henry wants to help

Spencer doesn’t need to look to know it’s JJ tapping on the door to the bathroom stall.  He knows the cadence of her walk, the sound of her shoes.  And the brazen protectiveness that sends her after him, even into the men’s room.

“I know you’re throwing up in there,” she says.  

Spencer doesn’t have enough voice to contradict her.  It wouldn’t do much good to lie anyway.  It doesn’t take a profiler to know he’s suffering today.  He sighs and flushes the toilet, then reaches up to unlock the stall door.

JJ squats at his shoulder.  “You’ve been feeling bad all day, huh?”

Spencer shrugs.  “More or less.”

“It’s almost seven.  Nothing exciting’s going to happen today.  Let me drive you home.”

“I don’t want to get you sick…” Spencer starts.

“Hey, I’m a mom.  I’m immune.”  

JJ’s phone begins to chirp.  “Speaking of which…”  She smiles.  “That’s Henry’s ring.”

“Hey, baby,” JJ says.

“I just… Dad just…” Spencer hears the child’s voice carry over the line.  “Are you gonna be home for dinner?”

“Should be,” JJ replies.  “I might be a little late, though.  Uncle Spencer’s not feeling good, and I’m gonna take him home first.”

Spencer’s about to tell her not to bother, but his nausea spikes again, and he lunges back toward the toilet.

“We could make him chicken soup.  And orange juice,” Henry pipes up.  “And…and give him medicine.”

“That’s a good thought, baby,” JJ says.  “Do you think I should bring him home with me?”

“Yes!”

“Alright.  Be home soon.”  JJ ends the call, then pats Spencer on the back.  “Well,” she says.  “You heard the kid.  You’re getting nursed back to health whether you like it or not.”


	19. Spencer's migraine catches up to him while on security detail

The problem with security work is that it’a boring.  Usually it’s more of a job for the local police, but when the stars align and there’s reasonable suspicion that the unsub will show up somewhere around the route of the San Fransisco Marathon, it ends up being a job for the BAU.  Spencer and Derek are stationed near the finish line, which ends up being a whole new level of uninteresting.  It’ll be at least an hour before the frontrunners make it this far.

It’s also sunny out, and the air is humid and still.  It feels like weather suited for the opposite corner of the US.  Spencer subconsciously imagines the map folding diagonally over itself, superimposing south Florida over northern California.  He pushes his sunglasses up on the bridge of his sweaty nose and looks around.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Security work is still boring.

“Man, we could almost swim in the bay,” Derek laughs.  “It’s never this warm.”

The weather.  He’s talking about the weather.  Small talk is such a minuscule portion of their interactions that it catches Spencer off guard.  He laughs too, but it sounds foreign to his ears.  In fact, he’s starting to feel like he’s under water.

The grin drops from Spencer’s face.  He swallows to force his ears to pop, but they don’t.  The saliva running down his throat turns bitter halfway through, and he has to draw in a deep breath to keep nausea from overwhelming him.  He can suddenly smell the trash bins half a football field away, along with hundreds of people’s sweat and sunscreen.

“Hey.  You ok?”  Derek’s hand drops onto Spencer’s shoulder at the same moment as the invisible boulder drops from the sky and cracks on the top of his head.  Spencer staggers under the weight of the pain and presses his hand over his mouth as he frantically tries not to gag.

“Whoa, whoa, kid.  It’s ok.”  Derek pushes him down to sit on the curb, then guides his head down to his knees.  Spencer’s sunglasses fall off, and Derek rescues them a second before Spencer vomits into the gutter.

“Breathe,” Derek intones, gently patting Spencer’s back.

“…Yeah…” Spencer drags the back of his hand across his lips.

“Migraine?”

“…Yeah…”

“You’re gonna be ok.  I’m gonna make sure of it.”


	20. JJ's soaked and freezing after a rainy Halloween night

Henry bounds in the door, eager to sort through his candy.  JJ lingers on the porch, closing the umbrella and giving it a good shake before following.

“Did you have fun?”  Will asks.  JJ watches him ruffle Henry’s hair.

“Yeah!”  Henry wiggles out of the cardboard box that makes up the body of his robot costume, then dumps his candy bucket on the coffee table.

“What about you?”  Will takes the umbrella and looks at his wife’s limp, wet hair.  “Fun?  Or just…rainy?”

“It was good,” JJ says, trying not to let her teeth chatter.  “He had fun.”

“You could’ve taken mine too.”  Will nods at the other umbrella sitting dry in the stand by the door.  “Then maybe you wouldn’t’ve gotten soaked.”

JJ shakes her head.  “No, his costume would’ve disintegrated if I hadn’t held it over his head for him.”  She forces a smile.  “It’s alright.”

“You’re a good mama.”  Will retreats into the hall.  

JJ crouches to untie her shoes, but her fingers are stiff and numb.  When she finally stands up, dizziness assaults her.

“Whoa, there.”  Will tosses a towel over his shoulder and grabs JJ’s arm before she can stumble.  “You alright?”

“Yeah.”  JJ feels the shivers passing through her wet jacket int into Will’s hands.  “Just cold.”

“We better get you dried off, then.”  He drapes the towel around JJ and uses the corner to wipe rivulets of rainwater from her cheeks.  “And warmed up.”

 

 


	21. Spencer has a bad reaction to a flu shot

When Spencer wakes sweaty and shaking in the middle of the night, his first thought is a bad dream.  That’s all it is; some long-forgotten case floating too close to the surface, maybe a little dilaudid craving thrown in for good measure.  But when he rolls onto his back and feels his vertebrae groan in protest, he knows there’s a bit too much ache in his bones for the pain to be purely psychological.   **  
**

Spencer pushes his hair off his forehead and glances at the clock glowing on his bedside table.  It’s one in the morning.  He’s no stranger to being awake at this hour, but it’s usually because he hasn’t gone to bed yet.  It’s that odd time of night where the past and future coalesce, where yesterday, today, and tomorrow blend together and cross definitions.

He’s definitely feverish, which adds to the haze.  If he takes Nyquil now, will he be good to work when it’s really morning?  Spencer struggles through the mental math.  Hotch won’t take kindly to him showing up sweating bullets and sharing his germs, especially if the team’s locked in close quarters on a case.  

Does he even have germs, though?  Spencer doesn’t recall being around anyone sick lately.  The gap in his memory frightens him, and he mentally flips through the events leading up to the here and now.  He worked, like usual.  Skipped breakfast, read files, wrote reports.  Nothing out of the ordinary, until…

It hits him, and Spencer laughs out loud with giddy relief.  The nurse with the handheld cooler and the stack of consent forms had made her rounds that afternoon, making jokes about rusty needles as she’d immunized most of the bureau.  He’d laughed at that too, but exchanged eyes with Derek over her head.  It had been clear who had seen the body of a junkie putrefying in an alley and who hadn’t.

Spencer drags his mind back to the here and now.  The thought of dead bodies turns his stomach tender.  He’s confident he isn’t contagious, but not that he’ll be able to make it through a workday.  But reactions like this are short-lived, so who knows.  Maybe he’ll be back to himself by the time morning really dawns.  There’s nothing to do now but close his eyes and hope for the best.

 

 


	22. Spencer's suddenly sick on a flight

Nobody’s happy to have a case like this.  Child murders put the entire team in a dour mood, but this time it’s exceptionally unpleasant.  None of them want to fly to the flats of Wyoming to pick up guts off a little-league field.  Especially not on Superbowl Sunday.

It doesn’t feel appropriate to comment on the coincidence of dates.  They’ve established it  _is_  a coincidence; baseball isn’t football, and the bodies have been at the dump site twelve hours at least.  The photos Penelope distributes as they troop out to the jet are time-stamped 7am local time, and the white peaks of a crime scene tent are visible in the background.

“Thanks for being ready to jump on this one,” Hotch tells them.  “I know the timing isn’t ideal.”

“It’s fine,” Spencer says, stowing his bag and opening the manila case file on his knees.  “Who needs weekends, anyway?”  It’s a poor attempt at a joke, and he knows it.  But he has the beginnings of a headache, the kind where furrowing his brow and focusing is more likely to hurt than help.

Hotch looks at JJ.  She smiles and shrugs.  “Sacrifices come with the job,” she says.  “But, in all seriousness, let’s just make sure this doesn’t happen to the next kid.”

Hotch starts the briefing, but Spencer’s mind wanders.  JJ likes football.  He knows this.  It was probably rude of him to say what he did.  He needs to think things through better.  But with the sleepless nights, the throb that always seems to be going in his temples…  He hasn’t been feeling like himself lately.

“Reid?”

Spencer blinks.  Hotch is asking him a question.  “Sorry?” Spencer asks.  His voice sounds odd in his own ears.

Hotch’s lips move, but it doesn’t match the words Spencer hears.  He’s not sure he’s hearing words at all.

“What?”  Spencer’s jaw goes heavy and numb.  His hands and feet are cold and damp, and his stomach swims around the level of his collarbones.

Hotch’s brow furrows.  Spencer still can’t understand what he’s saying, but there’s no mistaking the expression.   _Are you ok?_

Panic rises with the nausea, and Spencer jumps out of his seat.  He takes a bounding step toward the jet’s bathroom, but trips over the carpet and ends up on his knees.  The impact breaks his thin veil of control, and he vomits coffee and bile down the front of his shirt.

“Oh my god, ok.”  Footsteps thunder up behind him.  Strong arms slide around Spencer’s waist and heave him to his feet. Spencer swallows frantically.  He holds his shaking hand over his mouth.  JJ’s blurry outline juts in front of him, opening the bathroom door.

Spencer doesn’t even have time to sink back to a crouch before he has to lean for the toilet.  The acid burns on the way up and leaves him gasping and sputtering.

“Breathe,” Hotch says from Spencer’s shoulder.  “And when you can, tell me what hurts.”

“I’m…I’m fine,” Spencer coughs.  “Just…motion sick or something…”

“That might be part of it,” Hotch agrees.  “But we both know you haven’t been at your best, Reid.”

Spencer sighs.  Vomits again.  Then wipes clammy sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

“Now’s probably not the time to talk about it.”  Hotch hands him a wad of toilet paper.  “But we will.  Alright?”  He gives Spencer a pat on the back.

Spencer spits and wipes his mouth properly.  “Alright.”


	23. Spencer suffers smoke inhalation

Everyone’s shouting at him to stop; the firefighters, Hotch, JJ.  But Spencer doesn’t listen. It wouldn’t matter if the unsub was alone in the burning house, but he’s positive he’s not.  The cry was weak, and the math told them the victim was probably already dead, but Spencer’s ready to discard logic. He’ll throw it all away if there’s a chance, even a tiny one, at saving a life.

Spencer yanks the collar of his shirt out of the confines of his bulletproof vest and holds it over his mouth.  He knows it’s an ineffective shield, but it’s better than nothing. His eyes water with the heat and the sting of the smoke as he kicks down the busted door and dashes inside.  

The roar of the flames rings in Spencer’s ears, combining with the lack of oxygen to make his head throb sickeningly.  He feels small and weak in comparison to the conflagration, knowing all it will take is one wrong turn, one misjudgement to snuff the life out of him.  But he has the same power as the unsub. The power of one man. The power to determine whether a little girl lives or dies.

Spencer finds her lying face-down on the living room carpet, which is turning sticky as it melts under the oppressive heat.  He calls out to her, but his throat burns, and she’s already unconscious. The unsub is nowhere in sight, but Spencer doesn’t waste a moment looking for him.  He squats and slings the girl over his shoulder, fighting vertigo as he straightens up. Spencer blinks for a second, trying desperately not to pass out. He can feel the girl’s kindergarten heart thrumming against his chest, beating in tandum with his own, and he knows he can get her out of there.  He has to. 

Spencer’s knees give out as soon as he’s back in the driveway.  He fights to keep his upper body off the ground, to keep any more trauma from finding the girl’s tiny body.  

“Ok, we got you.  It’s ok.” Emily’s dark ponytail whips side to side as she ferries the child to the paramedics.  Spencer’s brain registers that she’s safe, that they both are, but his arms feel heavier without her weight.  His torso crashes forward, his chin bouncing off the pavement with enough force to rattle his teeth. It should hurt, but it doesn’t.  It just makes him tired.

“Keep your eyes open.  Look at me.” JJ lies on her stomach, cupping Spencer’s cheeks.  Her hands are cold as she wipes soot from his face. “You’re gonna be fine.  We’ll get you to the hospital.”

There are tears in JJ’s eyes.  Spencer backtracks as quickly as his foggy mind will allow.  Why is she upset? What did he do wrong? “I’m...sorry,” he croaks.  “I know you said...not to…”

“No.”  JJ shakes her head.  “No. You did good. You’ll be ok.”

_____

 

JJ keeps pace with the gurney as the EMTs wheel Spencer from the ambulance into the bustling emergency room.  The machines and monitors he’s attached to beep insistently, and the fluorescent lights overhead make him feel dizzy and sick.  

“Hey.  You’re gonna be ok,”  JJ says.  It’s probably the tenth time she’s said it, but it the words don’t feel repetitive.  “You did good.  You did the right thing.”

“Hm.”  Spencer reaches for her hand.  She’s right beside him, but she may as well be miles away.  The sensors taped to his chest and the mask blowing frigid air into his nose feel cold and impersonal.  

He rolls onto his side, igniting vertigo that makes his stomach slosh and his head spin.  Spencer coughs.  He feels like he could vomit, but his lungs hurt more than anything else.  

“Alright.  I’m here.”  JJ squeezes his hand and gently pushes Spencer back onto his back.  “Lay still.  I’m not going anywhere.”

The lack of oxygen makes him weak, but Spencer grips her warm fingers as tightly as he can.  “Promise?” he chokes.

“Yeah, Spence.  I promise.”


	24. Nothing ruffles JJ because Spencer's part of the family

“Hey.”  JJ taps on the door to the men’s bathroom.  “You still in there?”

There’s a weak cough, then Spencer’s voice murmurs, “Ugh.  Yeah.”

“Aw, Spence.”  JJ shakes her head in sympathy.  No one in the BAU will care if she goes inside, but she looks around anyway before pushing through the door.  She sees Spencer on his knees through the gap under the stall door, and his shaky breathing echoes through the tiled room.

She leans against the sink and says, “It’s been almost an hour.  You’ll probably be more comfortable at home. I’ll drive you, if you want.”

“No…”  Spencer trails off with a sick hiccup.  “I’ll...make a mess of your car.”

JJ shrugs.  “The car’s probably seen worse.  With the kids, I mean.”

“Hm.”  

“I’ll find you a trash bag if it’ll make you feel better,” JJ offers.  “But the mess doesn’t matter. You’re family.”


	25. JJ has post-concussion syndrome and Emily assists

The door to the jet’s tiny bathroom rattles and opens. JJ would turn and look over her shoulder if she thought she could. Her throat is in such a tight spasm that it feels brittle and fibrous and in danger of snapping. She settles for coughing out words into the shallow dish of the toilet.

“I thought… That was locked…”

“Yeah, well.” Emily steps sideways into JJ’s peripheral vision and shrugs. “My skills exceed the security features of airplane bathrooms.”

“Hm,” is all JJ can manage between ragged heaves. Her friend’s presence is comforting, but at the same time overwhelming. The throb filtering down from her head into her neck and shoulders seems worse with the addition of a second body in the cramped space. Maybe it’s a change in air pressure, or some minute workings of her inner ear.

“So.” Emily kneels and pats JJ’s shoulder. “Does Will know?”

For reasons JJ can’t begin to understand, her blood runs cold. “What?” She turns to face her friend, strings of mucous and bile whipping through the air and sticking to her chin, cold and wet.

“That you’re expecting,” Emily says, her tone perfectly casual.

“What?” JJ repeats in a gasp. “I don’t— I’m not—“

“Does he know you took a hard hit in the field?” Emily clarifies, shaking her head. “Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke. It wasn’t a good one.”

“Yeah…” JJ laughs in relief. Her limbs go weak and shaky with the release of her chemical panic, trembling clear up to her ribcage. “It wasn’t.”

“I don’t know any concussion jokes.” Emily kneels beside her, one hip pressed softly against JJ’s. “Just thought maybe it would help to lighten the mood.” She smoothes JJ’s ponytail down her back. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Another rope of spit dangles from the corner of her mouth, warning of another impending onslaught. “I’m—“ JJ gags before she can say ‘fine’ again.

“You’re not.” Emily hands her a square of toilet paper. “Which is fine.”

JJ sighs and spits.

“You have a whole team of friends to help you. And a man at home. Who needs to be informed that you’re sick.”

“Not sick,” JJ insists. “Just concussed.”

“You still need to call Will,” Emily says.

JJ flushes the toilet and folds her arms back over the seat. “Yeah. When we land…” she groans.

“How about I call him when we land?” Emily gives her shoulder a pat and works JJ’s phone out of her pocket. “You’re not alone, remember?”

JJ smiles even though her stomach is in her throat again. “Thanks.”


End file.
